


Long Nights and Lonely Socks

by DaringlyDomestic



Series: Domestic Angsty Fluffy One-Shots [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 04:20:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5854018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaringlyDomestic/pseuds/DaringlyDomestic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock takes on a case that lasts much longer than intended. John misses him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Nights and Lonely Socks

Sherlock’s hand reaches tentatively toward the door handle. He pauses. Deduces. The flat is quiet but…not lonely. That’s a good sign. If John had left, there would be an emptiness to the place. Still, he should have texted. But he hadn’t known when he left the flat on Thursday morning that he’d be gone for 72 hours. The case was little more than a four, and he had only taken it to keep from going mad. His eyebrows draw up and a deep crease appears. Why did it take so long? The answer had been embarrassingly simple. With a resigned sigh, Sherlock turns the handle, enters the flat, and is immediately enveloped by the familiarity of home. A little light seeps into the hallway through the large glass window in the door to Mrs. Hudson’s flat. He can hear her humming softly as she cleans dishes. A small smile quirks around the corners of his mouth, but is soon chased away by the stormy frown that accompanies the utter silence of the flat upstairs. Sherlock takes the stairs two at a time and bursts into the sitting room, eyes quickly scanning for John. The sound of running water tells Sherlock that John is in the shower. Still uneasy, Sherlock heads to his bedroom hoping his presence will escape John’s notice tonight. He could do with a few more hours to marshal an acceptable excuse.  
As his eyes rove over the room, two things happen simultaneously: the shower cuts off and Sherlock notices his bed has been remade with clean sheets. Anger bubbles in his chest as he wrenches open the dresser. Why couldn’t John leave his things alone? Was it not enough that Sherlock allowed the common areas to be cleaned and organized? It is annoying and inconvenient, but it means a lot to John. He eats at least once a day, he thanks Mrs. Hudson when she brings him tea (most of the time…she probably brings him tea when he’s in his mind palace but that doesn’t really count…), and he even agreed to a monthly disposal of biohazards from the fridge. All he retained was this one drawer. He knows it’s not logical but the organization and structure of it calms him. John shouldn’t touch it. He had said as much on no less than 12 separate occasions. Warily, he glances down. 

To his amazement, the drawer is neatly and properly arranged. His socks sit in perfect rows indexed and coordinated exactly as he always does it. Sherlock is still in shock and doesn’t notice John watching him from the doorway. “Hi.” Sherlock’s head whips around. “I didn’t hear you come in.” John makes his way around the bed and stops next to Sherlock in front of the open drawer. “Is it alright?” Sherlock looks down at the perfect rows and feels a lump rising in his throat as he fights back the sting of tears. He gestures toward the drawer. ”But, how…” The words choke off and an undignified sound rips itself from his chest. “It’s perfect,” he whispers. John carefully circles his arms around Sherlock and holds him to his chest. “I missed you.”


End file.
